The Fall
by tinylittlebunny
Summary: Nine hundred years after Armageddon, a survivor struggles to keep her sanity. Kidnapping Father Tres is critical to her plans, but everything is thrown off course when she encounters Father Abel. OC Heavy but features Abel and Tres.
1. The Fall

**Disclaimer: Own nothing.**

**This is a seven or eight chapter story about the darkness in Abel's past. Occasional lighter moments though. :)**

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Father Abel Nightroad's insides felt like jelly.

He scrambled back to his feet and found that his knees weren't in any better shape. "Unhgoooo" he moaned, bringing his hand to his head, trying to steady his spinning world. He had heard the airship approach from a distance but it had failed to register as threat. The whine of a Shephard missile above and the resulting explosion were unexpected to say the least. The priest stood, choking on dirt particles that muddied the air, trying to catch his breath. Gradually as the air cleared enough, he scanned the horizon. His eyes settled on the slim figure outlined in the dim moonlight on the crest of the gently sloping hill that lay before him.

She was standing hunched over, hands on her knees, turned slightly away from him. He could see that she too was trying to catch her breath. She must have been knocked down - the waistcoat of her Albion palace guard uniform was covered in dirt and badly stained.

Cautiously Abel ventured a step but his legs nearly buckled beneath him. Feeling stranded, he tried shouting but between the steady drone of the airship and the wind whipping about them, there was little chance she could hear him. Gathering what strength he had left, he staggered forward and kept shouting. His eyes stayed fixed on the slight woman, willing her to look at him.

"Miss...errr...Lieutenant...Just stay there! Please!"

To his surprise, she slowly turned her head in his direction, dark hair swinging into her face. Surely a gangly, silver haired priest waving his arms like a wild man was a hard thing miss on this barren seaside landscape. Yes, she was staring at him, he was almost sure of it.

"Just don't move! Don't move and they won't shoot! Aaagghhuum...again! They won't shoot again!"

Abel wasn't in the habit of making promises he couldn't keep but the situation seemed to be getting more and more desperate.

The figure, still hunched over, suddenly jerked her head up and stared up into the bottom of the airship that hovered nearly directly above her.

_I'm too late,_ thought Abel.

Within a minute, ten Vatican soldiers stood with Rex-9's leveled at the woman. They had fanned out in formation to prevent her from escaping back downhill.

"By the order of the Vatican Department of Inquisition, you are hereby under arrest for kidnapping an agent of the Vatican, wanton and willful destruction of Vatican property..."

Although the men looked identical, the unit commander stood slightly ahead of the others. The voice amplifier in his helmet crackled as he continued listing the charges.

Abel, who slowed his pace as he neared the soldiers, could now clearly see her face.

Strangely, she wasn't looking at the men surrounding her, or the semi-automatics they held - she was staring directly at him, dark eyes flashing with defiance.

Only then did he realize what the soldiers did not. By blocking any downhill escape route, they had unintentionally left open the only route she was ever planning to take; the reason she was here at all. She rested 20 paces from a sheer 100 meter drop into the sea.

Without breaking her gaze with the priest, the female guard slowly raised her hands and tentatively took a step back.

The commanding officer stopped mid sentence.

"Wait.....Don't move or we'll shoot."

Abel was close enough to touch the Vatican soldiers. They gave him no sign of acknowledgement although he was quite sure they were aware of his presence. He stepped between two of them but felt uneasy about venturing any further.

They were all staring ahead at the suspect. Not only was the woman disregarding the commander's orders, she was now lowering her hands, inching them closer to the firearms strapped to the sides of her hips.

"Stop. Repeat. Stop immediately. Do not draw your weapons!" The static interference of the voice amplifier could not hide the mounting desperation in his voice.

She was more than halfway to the cliff edge and was gently easing two rather hefty looking handguns out of their holsters.

"Stand, ready!" The commanding officer was barking orders to his team. He held a black gloved hand outstretched above his head, poised to give the final command to fire. But even as the woman completely unholstered her guns, the order never came.

She reached the edge and stopped. Still wielding the firearms, she lifted her arms out from her sides, looked skyward and paused.

_Don't do it_, Abel pleaded silently.

Then she stretched out into the void and was gone.


	2. Tres

_(24 hours previously)_

Security was tight that evening at Newsouth Cathedral.

The mourners who had come to pay their respects to Archbishop Croydon were accustomed to seeing soldiers and priests who were heavily armed. The funeral was a high profile event for the Vatican and it would be tightly monitored for possible terrorist activity. Just two months previous a bomb had gone off at a cathedral in Rennes during high mass. An estimated ten thousand mourners would be in attendance tonight, making it an especially tempting target for anyone who wished to send a message to the ruling religious institution.

One of the armed priests was posted just off the west entrance of the cathedral, looking intently at everyone who passed by. He was a highly trained agent who belonged to an elite subsection of the Vatican militia.

He was also an android.

Vatican Enforcement Officer Tres Iqus, AX Division was in search mode. He scanned the crowd using a facial recognition algorithm that Father Wadsworth had just recently installed.

Lieutenant Arianne Rayder watched the android from a distance. She took a long drag on her cigarette, flicked it away and took off, heading straight for him.

Lt. Rayder wore a white gold trimmed uniform issued to every member of the Albion palace guard for special events. She looked better than usual tonight, although to an outside observer, her best probably did not justify a second glance. Her looks were decent but she crafted her appearance to be easily forgotten. Long jet black bangs hung over her face, hiding glittering dark eyes. Her frame was slight, what one might call boyish and she carried herself with a slouch, making her appear even smaller than she actually was.

No one took any notice of the her as she eased her way through the well lit square. Upon reaching the priest, she touched his elbow lightly.

"Father Tres Iqus?"

At this point had anyone been paying attention, they would have heard a low buzz of electricity, but the hushed murmuring surrounding them continued uninterrupted. She leaned over.

"Stop Normal System Reboot. User Access Passcode: CharlieAlpha4795" she murmured in his ear.

She paused, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

"Activate Emergency Clean Reboot."

The fact that absolutely nothing happened, save the muted whirring of his optical sensors, was testament to the fact that the access codes she'd purchased on the black market had been well worth the denari. If Tres' warning system had gone off, she knew he would have disarmed and detained her in under 1.4 seconds.

She counted on the fact that his facial recognition program would categorize her as a "friendly" and allow her to draw near. The casual human gesture masked what was hidden in her palm; his optical sensors never picked up the small but powerful electron interference taser specifically modified to shock his electrical system.

"Transfer universal access for Father Tres Iqus to Arienne Rayder. Initiate retinal and voice scan confirmation."

* * *

After checking in at the LeFountain Bleu Hotel front desk, she headed down the hall towards the staircase, priest in tow. Before she was out of earshot she heard the disdainful muttering of the hotel night attendant.

"Damn fetishists."

She opened the door to the top floor room, revealing what one would expected in a hotel of this caliber; the pungent smell of woodrot, the stained threadbare carpet, the tacky floral bedcover. She motioned to the priest to sit on the bed and proceeded to double lock the door, shoving a chair underneath the knob for good measure. It was a silly precaution - anyone who possessed a bit of muscle and good old fashioned determination could knock down the flimsy door in five minutes, but it made her feel better.

She looked over at Father Tres who sat stoically facing a water-stained wall, his hands resting on his thighs. _He looks so proper,_ she thought.

Father Tres Iqus, was a compact but good looking man. He was dressed in a thick black fitted coat of Italian design which hung open revealing a handsomely tailored clerical robe. The cuffs and collars were slightly oversized and edged with white silky fabric. Around his neck hung a thick gold chain which tapered to an elaborate glinting cross.

Something occurred to her and she frowned slightly. _No other chairs._

"Lie down", she ordered. "Facing down...please."

Tres obeyed. The sight of the well dressed priest with his face buried in the pillow, arms down at his sides, almost made her laugh aloud.

She walked over to the bed and swung a leg over the prone body, sitting down lightly on his lower back. Her fingers reached out and touched a small metal-ringed hole on his neck. Opening the roll case she'd been carrying in her waistcoat pocket, she chose a small adaptor, attached one end to a palm sized drive and slid the other into the back of Father Tres' neck.

"Well, let's see what you've got here."

* * *

With the help of an over-the-ear visual display aid and a motion sensitive stylus, she flew through the routine of hacking a new device. She spoke aloud while she was doing this, not for Father Tres' benefit, but for her own. To her, it was the programming that was alive; it had been crafted by a human or humans with whom she shared a common language.

"My god you are beautiful," she swooned. "They don't know crap about basic network security over there at the Vatican, but you...you my friend were created by a demigod." She pressed her lips into a half smile. "Sheer effing brilliance."

Father Tres said nothing. One of the first things she had done, after disabling his tracking system, was lock his verbal interaction protocols. She felt conspicuous enough the way they were dressed; they might have attracted even more unnecessary attention had he been voicing status updates along the way to the hotel.

Arienne rolled over onto her back on the other side of the bed, switching to voice commands in order to leisurely scroll through his coding.

The race against time, against the threat of her inevitable decent into madness was over...and she had won.


	3. Palace Exit

When Arienne awoke she found herself curled up next to the android. He was still in the same position, face down into the pillow. During the course of the evening, she had somehow entwined both of her thin arms around his right one, her hand pressed into his. She had gravitated towards his sheer weight, the human shaped space he took up.

She squeezed her eyes shut. There had been a time, such a very short span of time looking back now, when she could wake up in the early morning hours and look over to see her love, her best friend, sleeping soundly next to her. She could stretch out her legs and roll over, spooning him and he would shift, molding his body to hers. It was oh so wonderful to fall back to sleep like that, breathing in his scent. Sleep was better with someone beside her. No, not someone...him. Christian. He'd not been her first lover, or her last. He'd just been the one she'd dreamed of having a life with.

_How long had it been? How many days, months, years...centuries..._

Breaking out of her reverie, Arienne glanced at the clock. She'd fallen asleep while waiting for Tres' new program to download. There was still a couple of hours left until she had to arrive at work; it would be her last day before her official leave of absence began.

'To take care of some family business' she had said to the colonel. It was a lie, probably an unnecessary one, but she wanted to be sure the request was not refused.

She unwound her arms from his, pressing down and sliding underneath his heavy limb as if not to rouse him and got up from the bed. Her clothes were rumpled from sleep but she had a change of clothes in her car.

"Tres, Universal reboot. Activate program EVR-5."

Arienne was looking into the mirror, absently combing her hair with her fingers when she remembered.

_The guns._

She was across the room in an instant, pulling his cloak up, fingers scrabbling to unsnap the holster when -

Father Tres's grip was like an iron manacle.

Without releasing her wrist, Tres got up and stood facing Arienne. She felt intimidated.

"You require my weapons Arienne?" Tres' monotone had been untouched by her programming, however he addressed her with a familiarity that indicated a subtle shift in his protocols. Her program was working.

"Yes Father Tres. I need them for now. Your close combat skills are enough to defend yourself should you encounter any difficulty today."

He acknowledged this statement with a curt nod, dropping his grip on her arm to shed his cloak and unharness the shoulder gun holster.

Arienne nearly tipped over when he handed over the small cannons that passed for handguns.

"Thank you Father. I will...can you hand me that pillowcase...I will return this evening. Please wait here for further instructions." She took the proffered pillowcase and carefully wrapped it around the pair of Jericho M13's.

Arienne thought perhaps she was being overly cautious - but the incredible _efficiency_ of his genocide mode was mind boggling. She didn't want a knock on the door to accidentally trigger a massacre. Her program would undoubtably need a little debugging, a few tweaks here and there, but she would have to leave that for later. Tres would run through a complete system check during the day and have a report ready by evening.

She was partially out the door, pillowcase bundle tucked safely underarm when she turned to look at the android. He was calmly, almost quizzically, looking around the room, deep brown eyes taking in the decrepit surroundings.

_I wish I had more time... _Arienne thought wistfully, but then thought better of it.

_No, I've had time enough. Two more days. Keep it together for two more days and then you can rest. _

* * *

As it turned out, two days was too much to ask. It would end up being one day, spent mostly in the Albion palace communications department. Unkown to Arienne's superiors, her short leave would actually be a permanent one. Not being one to shy away from obligations, she'd spent countless hours the previous days ensuring that all her projects would run as smoothly as possible after her departure.

The furiously busy afternoon had turned into a quiet early evening by the time Arienne saw the requisition slip on her desk. It took a half hour longer than she anticipated, but she eventually found the requested equipment in a back room, wrapped in a pile of cables that had outlived their usefulness. Although she typically sent items like this through a palace messenger, she decided to bring it up to the Colonel's office herself.

The attending officer upstairs gave a only a cursory glance at the requisition slip before waving her in; apparently the small metal box had been expected much earlier. Arienne paused before the colonel's door and knocked.

* * *

"Father Abel, I'm sorry there was no one to meet you at the train station. We've been woefully understaffed today. I hope your trip here was not too uncomfortable, I know how some of those overnight train trips can be."

Colonel Mary Spencer looked tired. Since the death of the Albion queen, the colonel had been the interim governer of the country of Albion. Although she ran things with military efficiency, it was not unlike her to concern herself with details such as the welfare of a humble travelling priest.

"Oh it was just fine, thank you, Colonel Spencer for inquiring." Abel sat in front of the Colonel's large mahogany desk, facing the imposing woman. His train cabin had actually been frightfully hot but that was not germaine to the reason he was in Albion and he thought better of mentioning it. Even though the Colonel was being genial, he knew her time was precious and Abel did not want to waste even one minute.

"As you might know, Father Tres is just not prone to wandering off. The loss of his main tracking signal has been a great cause of concern for my superior at the Vatican. Professor Wadsworth was under the impression that you had a particular piece of equipment we need."

"I understand. The professor has transmitted hardware specifications ahead of time and I've already sent the request down to my communications department. It should be here - "

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in..."

Abel heard the sound of padded footsteps on the carpet.

"Colonel Spencer," said a terse but feminine voice, "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

Some old gentlemanly instinct compelled Abel to rise from his seat upon hearing the lieutenant speak. He wasn't sure if he was being sexist - had it been a male lieutenant he would have allowed the Colonel to get on with business as quickly as possible.

"Actually Lieutenant, you are right on time," said the Colonel. "The radio receiver was actually for - "

The shock on Lt. Rayder's face caused the Colonel to stop mid-sentence. Arienne had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring at Father Abel Nightroad with a look of utter terror.

"Miss, are you alright?" Father Abel asked, taking a step closer towards the lieutenant. She flinched, snapping her head away as if he had made a move to hit her.

"Yes. I... I didn't realize you had a guest with you, Colonel." Arienne said shakily. She closed her eyes. Abel could see here eyes move furiously behind fluttering lids. Her hands were visibly trembling and the metal box made a rattling noise in her hands. After a long pause, she opened her eyes and trained them on the floor.

Arienne spanned the two steps between them and held out the metal box for Abel. He accepted it and watched the lieutenant turn on her heel and walk out the door as swiftly as possible without breaking into a flat out run.

The Colonel and Abel were left in stunned silence.

"Father Abel, I'm so sorry, I have no idea what that was about," said the Colonel, the surprise audible in her voice. "Do you...know Lieutenant Rayder?"

"No, I've never seen her before just now," said Abel, thoughtfully shaking his head. "It appears as though she's mistaken me for someone else. Dear me, I _do_ hope she will be alright."

Abel's lie was buried between two truths.

Abel knew, she hadn't mistaken him for anyone else.

She had looked at him like he was a monster.

* * *

Arienne pulled the door open and tried to run away before the flood of tears erupted; running down the hall, past the main entrance, past the palace gates...

* * *

_Marseille, France - 2123 A.D. _

"_Cap, you can't do this. Just a couple more hours - you'll see. You said yourself, their troops are dispersing. Without their weapons link, their ground troops will have no support." She was pacing impatiently in front of a large visual communications screen._

_The viz transmission fuzzed in and out. She thought for a moment she lost contact until she heard his voice again and a worn, chiseled face of came into view. He was a handsome man, or had been in his day, with dark brown eyes and salt and pepper hair. He wore a navy blue uniform dress jacket that was open slightly at the collar._

"_I'm sorry Major, we can't risk another catastrophe like Prague. Look, I know you've been working at this but it can't be resolved this way. They're way ahead of us. They've got too much technology, too many advanced resources on hand. God knows what they have access to in the ARK. I'd rather lose the battle and win the war."_

"_Lose the battle? Lose the freaking battle? They're going to kill her Cap! You know that. Everyone knows that. She's the only reason those crusniks haven't bombed us to oblivion. They want her back. She's the only reason we're still here and you're telling me you're going to deliver her to them?"_

"_Ambassador Sahl doesn't need my permission to -"_

"_She's the queen Cap. You KNOW THIS," she screamed. "You can't sacrifice the queen or the game is OVER!" She violently kicked the console in front of her._

_Torin, the heavily armed soldier who until now had been lounging near the bunker entrance, rose from his chair._

_She raised her hands, as if to say 'I'm done, it's fine." He eased somewhat, but remained standing._

"_Look, I've gone over and over this," she said facing the communications screen again. "The launch...Cap, it was textbook. Everything went perfectly. The program to disable the link is solid. You just need to give it time." She looked at her watch, 2 hours, seven minutes until the Nightlord's satellite was useless. The rest of team had departed Marseilles a day earlier to establish a new unit in Valencia, she and Torin were the only ones left in the control room._

"_Listen to me, whatever happens -" said Cap. Suddenly there was some commotion. In the background there was shouting in German. The viz transmission fuzzed out to black. Panicked, she starting flipping switches on the console but found that all military transmission had been jammed._

_The screen sparked to life and the visual coalesced again, only this time it was of a young blonde man with astonishingly blue eyes. _

"_General Capriotti," he said. His lips formed a sharply curved smile that was both sinister and beautiful. "I'd like to commend you for allowing this little reunion with my sister, Ambassador Lillith Sahl. You'll have to trust that I will give her the welcome she richly deserves."_

"_You know General, I've quite enjoyed myself these past few years. It's sad that this will all soon be coming to and end after what I'm sure will be successful negotiations with Lillith. I was going to save my surprise until after her arrival but it seems someone has launched a projectile to intercept the orbit of our main weapons satellite. This new development has moved my timeline up a bit. Unfortunately, I can't allow the smaller cities you've been using as cover for your military bases to remain standing. Toulouse, Marseille, Brno, Dover, Belfast, Milan, Valencia and...hmmm, which city are you in again? Ah yes. Dresden. You understand, this isn't personal. After all, we still are at war for the time being. Forgive me, General. I'm afraid this is a final good bye. I speak for both my brother and myself when I say it's been an honor." As the young man bowed slightly the screen fuzzed out._

_Ari stared aghast at the blank black screen. Suddenly the bunker shuddered. _

"_Oh god, the city..." Ari looked at Torin._

"_We have to warn them -" she started to the door but he blocked her path, catching and holding her small shoulders. At six feet, he was not a overly large man but he was fit, and easily outweighed her by double._

"_Warn who? Major, it's already started. There's nothing we can do."_

"_I have to try. There's dozens of bunkers across the city. I just need to get to a general broadcast center and -"_

"_My orders, Major, were to keep you here no matter what."_

"_Orders? Last time I checked, Majors outrank Lieutenants."_

"_General Capriotti asked -"_

"_Cap can go to hell, Torin. Get your hands off of me."_

_A blast hit the bunker again and threw them to the ground._

By time her run had slowed into a hobbling walk, she found herself lost in the twisted maze of the Londinium.

She stopped and leaned her back against the cold surface of a brick building. A fine night mist was turning into a light rain. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up towards to the sky, letting the droplets slide down her face.

_Oh god, I've screwed up...everything._


	4. Tracker

The hotel room was the last place she should have gone, but there she was, sitting on the worn carpet floor, staring despondently at the impassive priest. A melancholy silence hung over the dank room.

Someone would be along shortly for him and she did not plan on being around when they came. Soon she would take a taxi to her car which was parked just outside the city checkpoint. She had dropped it off at the rest stop before work this morning, flagging down a private car to get back to the palace. From there she would travel two hours to the quaint town of Dubris. The plan had been to bring Tres with her, but now she knew someone had the ability to track him.

_The priest_

_A crusnik._

_It's been so long, I started to believe he was a myth. A rumor. A methuselah boogey man. But he's alive. And here in Albion. An angel of death, sitting right there with the colonel, exchanging pleasantries as if he hadn't massacred..._

_Whatever. Doesn't matter. All I know is that he's here for Father Tres...and this will never work._

Arienne, unsure of what to do, spoke to the android.

"Tres?"

"Yes Arienne." Instead of staring blankly ahead, his eyes now tracked hers.

"I did not bring your firearms with me." His twin pistols had been left in her car.

He nodded, staying silent.

Arienne wished that he would get angry, so she could get angry back at him. She wanted to yell at someone if only to forget the fact that she alone held responsibility for screwing up her carefully made plans. The plans in place could never be executed now, certainly not if the Vatican was involved. The fake identity procured from the Londinium black market was good, but would never hold up to intense scrutiny.

Her front pocket contained a cigarette, it was bent but not broken. She rummaged through her pockets for matches. On finding them, she lit a match and held it in front of her for a minute before lighting the cigarette. She took a long drag, exhaling evenly through her nose.

"Tres?"

"Yes Arienne."

"You...have a secondary tracking system?"

Tres tilted his head slightly, pausing before answering.

"Yes."

"I can't disable it?"

"Not easily, no."

"It's analog? A radio signal?"

"Yes. A receiver must be in close range to pick up the signal."

Arienne sighed._ I knew it. I personally handed over the receiver they needed to find Father Tres. The gods of fate might as well stick a knife in my heart, it would be far less cruel. _

She got up from the floor and the android rose in tandem from the bed.

Coming here in the first place had been a dangerous risk; staying this long was just plain stupid. Once those Vatican dogs picked up a scent, they were relentless. Using the receiver she'd given Father Abel, the Vatican would find them before midnight, probably much sooner than that. Even with that knowledge, she lingered.

How had the tracking device slipped past her so easily? Going over his programming in her mind, she could not fathom where it had been hidden.

"The second tracking device...is it connected to your main power source?"

"No. It was installed to circumvent my main program and power source. It's a self contained kinetic system - based on an old timepiece design. "

Amusement crept onto Arienne's lips. She dropped her cigarette to the carpet and ground it out.

_Like a self-winding watch. Even if he was completely powered down, the secondary tracking system would send a signal for months..._

"You're...ticking?"

Tres nodded, but his expression indicated he was less than sure of his answer.

"Where is the device located?"

With his middle and ring fingers he touched his chest - just left of center.

Arienne let out a little snort.

_The Vatican has a sense of humor._

Overcoming a sudden feeling of shyness she strode over to the android and bent down, resting her ear over the place he had just indicated.

After a minute she peered up at Tres and gave a small woeful frown, shaking her head.

Tres gently placed a gloved hand over her outside ear and pressed her head against his chest.

She finally heard what she'd been listening for: the soft shick of sliding oscillations. A smile spread across her face.

_Someone's given Father Tres a heart._

_-----------------------------------------------------_


	5. The Chase

Arienne finally tore herself away from the hypnotic rhythm.

"Why Father Tres," Arienne said with a rare hint of playfulness, "I do believe you have a he-"

Arienne's mouth was held fast by the android's thumb, the rest of his hand cupped her jaw. The intensity of his stare was startling, she thought for a second he would snap her neck. Then she realized - he was listening.

"Tres?"

"Three Vatican combat units are in the immediate vicinity. One unit has separated and blocked off all known exit points to the hotel. The other two will breach the room in 30 seconds. The Department of Inquisition has set up artillery combat units on the west and east ends of the block. Any attempt by us to escape will result in a 98.4% chance of failure."

Arienne stepped back, angrily knocking his hand off her face. "This is not the way it's supposed to be," she hissed. "How did they track you so quickly. It's him isn't it? How is it the Vatican allows that _crusnik_ to command an army of -"

"Father Nightroad...he is here?" Tres interuppted.

"Do you know what he's done, Tres? Do you have any idea?"

"He does not command these men, Arienne."

"He's _killed_." Arienne's voice was shrill, edged with lunacy. "Killed so many people that we couldn't...couldn't bury all the bodies. Oh god, they were rotting in the stre- "

Tres grabbed Arienne and gently but purposefully pulled her hair back so that she was forced to stare him in the eye. She was caught halfway between terror and fury.

"Arienne listen to me. The Vatican is highly fractured. Abel Nightroad is not your enemy. I do not know how the Department found us so quickly. I cannot guarantee what will happen if you are captured by them. Listen to me: I can help you escape but you have to trust me."

Arienne stared at Tres, wondering if the artificial intelligence program was truly working. Last night, when she had fallen asleep next to him, she only thought of him as an inanimate object - a means to an end. And now he seemed so convincing as a human. But the programming...she hadn't had time to check it. He could have somehow overwritten her instructions.

"10 seconds Arienne."

The men had reached their floor. Arienne could feel the heavy vibration of their booted footfalls as they approached the door. Her mouth went dry. Her fate had been flying towards her at full speed and she never saw it coming until now. There had never really been a choice.

"Tres. I'll do whatever it takes, please...just help me."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The unit commander of Vatican Unit: Archos Three led his team up the west stairwell, arriving on the 5th floor of the hotel slightly ahead of the other unit. The hall was rank, smelling strongly of mildew with a hint of dead rat.

Of all of Cardinal Sforza's AX agents, Father Tres Iqus was the last that he wanted to face in combat. It was well known that in close combat the priest had a 92% kill rate against Methuselah, and a bone chilling 98% kill rate against armed humans. Even without the huge Jericho's he usually had on him, the average survival rate was not much better. The difference between life and death for the men under his command tonight depended whether or not Tres' defenses switched to genocide mode during their ambush. If that terrorist woman had reprogrammed him to turn on the Vatican, there would be no telling what would happen when they entered that room. Outside were heavy artillery backup units though, and in the end he was sure that the evening would end in the terrorist's capture. More than anything he wanted to be part of that success, to serve His Holiness in some small way.

A glance at the door confirmed that it would be down on impact from the battering ram. Positioning himself ahead of both units, he signaled the go ahead. The commander was prepared for a number of scenarios, from a suicide attack to a hostage situation. He was, however, completely unprepared for what he actually saw.

On the other side of the room door, he found Father Tres hurling the Albion lieutenant out the hotel room window.

She hit the pane with explosive force, breaking it and sending an arcing rain of glass out over the concrete below. The power of the android's throw was enough to send the woman hurtling the 50 odd feet to reach the roof of the 3-story building opposite the hotel. The commander ran to the window, semi-automatic in hand. Behind him he heard the pained yelps of his men punctuated with occasional gunfire, but the sound of their pummeling didn't phase him - he had a mission. The objective of the three combat units had been to capture the woman alive. His only hope now was to disable her with a non-lethal shot to one of her legs, that is, if the landing didn't kill her first. The woman hit the roof with a skull cracking thud and rolled 3 or 4 times before she stopped. Getting to her feet she began a jerky limp away from the hotel, trying to make an escape to the relative safety of the next street over.

He raised his gun and took aim about a quarter second before meeting total darkness.

--------------------------------------------------------------------


	6. Dubris

Father Abel Nightroad was in a back alley not far from the escalating chaos at the hotel. He hadn't needed the radio to find Tres. When he had almost finished relaying the events of meeting with the Albion Colonel to Captain Kate Scott she'd cut him off abruptly, then signaled through a closed channel that their previous conversation had been monitored. Within the hour the Department of Inquisition had assembled a number of combat units on Albion soil. When Department had the seedier part of Londinium in near lockdown, a steady stream of shady characters had crawled out of the woodwork to offer some rather helpful information. To find Father Tres, all Abel had to do was follow the huge mobilization of combat teams to the hotel.

There was a strange humming energy in his body. He felt, no - he _knew,_ that the Albion lieutenant was near. He'd felt a charge of energy tear through him in the Colonel's office but at the time he wasn't aware it was because of her. After the lieutenant's hurried exit, Abel had moved to the window and watched her sprint across the palace courtyard. He had felt a buzzing numbness in his body - the same numbness he felt now.

THWAK!

Abel nearly missed being hit by a large falling object. In the darkness he saw a heap on the ground. He approached with caution, nervously pushing his glasses up.

"Oh my...Lieutenant?"

He knelt down by her side.

"Lieutenant, did you fall from..." Abel looked up. The buildings on either side of them were 3 stories high. There were no open windows, no fire escapes; she must have fallen from the roof. The uniformed heap twitched slightly. She was alive - but in bad condition. She did not rebuff his attempt at helping her to her feet. Because she was too weak, or too stunned, to stand on her own, Abel was left holding her up, gripping her small waist. The lieutenant looked awful. Small reddish shards of glass were stuck into her pale skin and blood dripped down from her ear down onto her shoulder, leaving a blackish, crimson edged stain. An empty shell-shocked look hung upon her dirt streaked face.

In the distance Abel could hear the faint rumble of Vatican motorcycles.

There were a few side doors in the alley but none of them looked like they would give way easily. He considered shooting through one of the locks, to hide her before the Department's soldiers found them, but it was a big risk; the sound of the gunshot would likely give away their location.

"Miss, let's find you a safe place to rest."

The lieutenant's head whipped around to Abel - she only just now realized that she was leaning on a person.

"Dubris," she said weakly. "I...need to get to Dubris."

Suddenly there was a thunderous bang. The brick walls around them were lit by a fireball shooting up into the sky.

They both stared at the roof line of what had been the top floor of the hotel. Half of it still remained.

"Oh god," the lieutenant choked. "Father Tres."

"I wouldn't worry about Father Tres, my dear." said Abel with a comforting smile. "He's very good at extricating himself from these situations."

Crackling red-orange flames licked the starry night sky, throwing a hellish glow onto the conjoined figures.

* * *

Under the flickering glow of the burning hotel, Arienne wrapped her arms around the priest and lay her head on his shoulder. She let her body release; she hung limp in his arms, staring blankly. She didn't have the energy to get to Dubris anymore; she couldn't even stand.

Arienne recalled Tres's words whispered in her ear before he had thrown her through the hotel window.

_Find Nightroad_.

"I know who you are," she whispered dully to the priest. "I know... I was in Marseille 900 years ago. My unit was supposed to disable your satellite link, and we...I thought we'd done it. But..."

Tears slipped from her eyes.

"The missiles came down on us, on the entire city, and they wouldn't stop. Even after there was nothing left to bomb. I lost track of time and..." her voice dropped, "...the missiles _still_ won't stop."

The priest's right arm moved stealthily, unsnapping his holster.

"No one remembers what it was like. The whole world has moved on, but I can't leave Marseille."

He pulled her closer. A gloved hand tightly gripped the back of her neck.

She spoke into the shoulder of his coat. "Every day, I wake up. And every day, I wish I was dead."

She heard the hollow click of the safety on his gun.

_The angel of death has come to release me. Of course. Father Tres sent me to him because I've no right being here; I should have departed this earth long ago._

With teeth clenched, she steeled herself for the fatal impact. "Do it."

The gun exploded and everything became a blur...

* * *

_Death is strange,_ thought Arienne. _It's like being spun around in the arms of a priest until you're pinned to a cold wall._

_Oh...crap._

Arienne's senses returned in a hyper-realistic blaze of color and sound. A monstrous black motorcycle screamed past on it's side, spitting out white-orange sparks. The former rider was rolling at an alarming speed towards them. When he finally stopped by a nearby dumpster, he clutched at his right shoulder, arching and writhing in pain. Muffled howls emanated from his helmet.

Searing white light flooded the long alleyway. The alternating roar of revving motorcycle engines echoed off the walls, creating a sonic force that shook Arienne's insides.

Huge crystal blue eyes were only inches from her own. The priest was screaming something, but she couldn't understand. Nothing was making any sense. Gradually she realized what he was trying to tell her.

"Dubris," she mouthed.

She tore off the wall, running full speed towards the upturned motorcycle...

* * *

Father Abel Nightroad walked swiftly towards the faceless riders, knowing that agents of The Department of Inquisition would never back down, but also knowing that this confrontation would not end well for them.

Without breaking his stride he leveled his revolver at the agents. He saw one of them nod.

Both crouched down, revved their engines and took off.

* * *

Department of Inquisition Agents Crowley and Fascher were primed and ready for vehicular combat. They knew with some certainty that anyone in Father Abel's position would only have time for one decent shot, leaving the other rider a good chance of escaping to pursue the suspect. It was possible, even probable, that one of them would be severely wounded if not killed outright but sacrifice was all part of the job.

Through the com in their helmets, their brief exchange had been this:

"Pass 'n Smash?"

"Yup."

As they bore down hard on the priest, Crowley, the slightly junior agent, shifted into the line of fire. He leaned forward and in a smooth flick of his wrist, extended his combat baton. He rose up even higher in this seat, giving Father Abel a good clean shot.

The "Pass 'n Smash" was a simple but effective maneuver. Given the limited space to pass, the target would instinctively shoot the larger threat, in this case Crowley, and then try to evade the speeding motorcycles. Any target who still had their wits about them could then try to get a shot off at the second motorcyclist but even the most skilled shooter would probably miss.

It was unfortunate for Agents Crowley and Fascher that there was not a single thing in their combat playbook that could possibly help them face this particular target.

* * *

Abel Nightroad held his gun steady as the oncoming headlights grew brighter and brighter. He waited for the last possible moment, until he was sure they would not change course, then dropped his gun and leapt gracefully into the air.

_Crusnik 02, Nanomachine activate - 05%_

Abel's wings opened with a solid thump, allowing him to hover just above the two oncoming motorcyclists. Grabbing the front of their armoured jackets he held them up in the air. Abel's dark robes whipped about as both motorcycles sped out from underneath them.

Abel touched down, still holding the two men up high. Their feet scraped the ground, but just barely. He let them struggle, uselessly claw at his hands. After awhile they hung limp with exhaustion.

He let them crumple to the ground.

"I would turn around and go back to the hotel now," said Abel in an even, neutral voice.

In sync the two men pulled out their guns and emptied their rounds into the priest.

When they were out of ammo they gaped open-mouthed, for it was only then that they saw his eyes: jet black irises with glowing red, almost pulsating, pupils. In horror they watched as his body seemed to eat the gashes left by their bullets. Flesh crawled over the gaping wounds until only pale, smooth skin showed through his ripped robes.

"Holy mother of -" said Crowley.

"What the hell?" said Fascher.

_Crusnik 02, Nanomachine activate - 30%._

Abel's silvery hair began to float about his face and a huge blood red scythe shot out of his hand.

Massive black wings spread out behind him, stretching out nearly the width of the alley. They shimmered slightly in the glow of the fire from the LeFountain Bleu Hotel.

"You're right," he growled with a wicked smile, revealing needle sharp fangs. "We should _absolutely_ do this the hard way."

Crowley and Fascher looked each other. Without uttering another word, they scrambled to their feet and fled back down the alley towards the burning hotel.

* * *

The agent who had been shot off his motorcycle, pulled off his helmet. He'd missed being crushed Fascher's motorcycle by a only few feet. It had clipped the dumpster near him, spinning it away until he was completely exposed. While the priest had been busy with Fascher and Crowley, he managed to grip his gun and pull it out of the holster. He winced when trying to aim it, his right shoulder burned with a searing pain. Before he could get a bead on the priest, gunshots rang out, startling him so much he reactively pulled into a fetal position, covering his head with his arms.

When he finally uncurled, Crowley and Fascher were nowhere to be seen. The priest, who previously had his back to him, turned and calmly began to approach him. His robes were in tatters, black fabric fluttered all about him. The thing that terrified the young agent the most was the expression on the priest's face - it was one of absolute serenity.

The agent crawled to the edge of the alley, leaning his back against the wall. He pulled up his arm and using his left hand to steady his right, shot twice. The looming figure continued without so much as a flinch.

Upon reaching him, the priest bent down and plucked the gun out of his hands.

* * *

Abel flipped the safety on and offered the gun, handle first, back to the terrified young man.

"Careful where you point this," he chided, not unkindly. "Someone could get hurt." The priest spoke in a low, almost sweet, voice.

The agent stared up at him with a look of disbelief. He accepted the gun back, letting it drop down to his side with a small whimper of pain.

Abel took out his spectacles and, after peeling off his gloves, examined the wound in the agent's shoulder.

"I think you'll be fine Agent..."

"Cross. Evan Cross"

"You'll be fine Agent Cross. It's a through and through." He began ripping swaths of fabric from his robe and wrapping them around the wound. "Not a lot of blood loss, though I wouldn't exert yourself quite yet. Hold here." Abel brought Cross's left hand to his right shoulder.

Agent Cross watched as the dark ribbons of fabric were bound around his shoulder and he felt a strange calm wash over him.

His head rolled off to the side where he saw two Vatican motorcycles on their sides. He'd temporarily forgotten about the other two agents.

"Oh god, Crowley and Fascher - what happened?"

"Ah, your fellow agents? I didn't catch their names. Probably rallying the troops as we speak."

A lock of silver hair fell into his face and he swiped his forehead with the back of his blood stained hand to move it.

_He's just a man_, thought Cross. His eyes fell to the small embroidered gold insignia on Abel's sleeve.

"You're...you're an agent with the Vatican. Why are you aiding that terrorist?" Cross did not ask this as an accusation, he asked this out of innocence.

"Terrorist? Hmm, I don't know about that."

Cross was confused. "But didn't she kidnap a member of your team, that android, to turn him into a weapon of terrorism against His Holiness and the people?"

Abel bristled. "The Department of Inquisition has assembled a team in Albion _against_ the government's wishes, destroyed a building, put dozens, even hundreds of Albion citizen in danger and you think..." Abel stopped himself, struggling to quell his rising anger.

When he got a grip on his emotions he continued. "Agent Cross, I'm not sure what you've been told by your superiors at the Vatican. It is true that a few weeks ago, Professor Wadsworth was alerted to a data pull of Father Tres' programming, as well as...some rather unusual ancient data. Although I'm still unsure of what's going on, nothing indicated an imminent attack on the Vatican or the wider population. Please, hold still."

Able tore off the end of the fabric, causing Agent Cross to wince slightly.

"Father Wadsworth installed a hidden tracking system on Father Tres. If the Department of Inquisition had not intercepted one of my transmissions, I think a good deal of this," Abel's eyes drifted for a moment towards the hotel, "could have been avoided."

"But..." started Agent Cross, timidly. "You don't know for sure, do you Father? That she isn't planning something dangerous."

Abel considered this for a minute. "No, you're right. I helped her. I helped her without any guarantee that she was not the criminal the Department thinks she is." He gave a deep sigh. "But sometimes, Agent Cross, you just have to trust..." he trailed off.

"In God?" asked Agent Cross helpfully.

Father Abel smiled quietly at this. "I was going to say 'in people.'"

"There." He tied off the bandage and stood back. Pushing up his spectacles he nodded approvingly. "That should do it for now. Keep pressure on your shoulder until the medics arrive."

In the distance they could hear sirens drawing close.

"I am truly sorry about your shoulder, Agent Cross," said Abel with palpable regret.

He put his white gloves back on and was heading to one of the Vatican motorcycles when he heard Agent Cross call out to him.

"Father..."

When he turned back, something rolled to a stop at his feet - a black motorcycle helmet. He looked at the agent who still sat on the ground, holding his shoulder.

Evan Cross simply shrugged at Father Abel.

"I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."


	7. By the Sea

Everything was done. She had piled up any last remaining bit of evidence, the will, the passports, the mem disks, anything that said Arienne Rayder ever existed, and had drenched it with lighter fluid. Then she poured gas everywhere, in every room of the tiny cottage by the sea, pouring a trail out of the house finally stopping a distance away, where the dirt ended and the sea grass began. The house was isolated but the neighbors would come. Dubris would probably not see a fire like this again for a good long while. Arienne sat down facing the little house, the life that she'd created, and lit a match.

_So Plan B it is._

The will that would soon burn had left everything to one girl. Anastasya. Arienne had only met her briefly all those years ago.

Genatech, the UN, Dr. Devnic, tiny Anastasya with her huge green eyes and that ridiculous rag tag doll; it all seemed like a dream now, like something she'd read about in a book once and only half remembered. But now the book was lost and she couldn't be sure what was real and what she'd made up.

"_Have you ever heard of the Crusnik virus?"_

She remembered Dr. Devnic...Gavin. All she could recall was that had died horribly, so horribly. He'd been the one to tell her about Genatech's experiments to generate the crusnik race, superior in all ways. She'd been part of the experiment to advance that race but no one was left to see it through.

"_You have to commit to the changeover, the g-force will trigger the rest."_

It was that simple. After her fall, after the impact, Arienne would cease to exist. The nanomachines in her body, the ones that had preserved her for 900 years, would take over and create, or rather re-create, an entirely new being.

Anastasya.

At least that was what Arienne called her. The kicker of the whole thing was that Arienne couldn't even remember her real name. It had been folded into the many memories that Arienne had lost. Her brain simply wasn't equipped to last this long. The nanomachines kept her alive but she knew she'd been slowly losing her mind.

But perhaps...

Perhaps the reality was that she had been edging towards insanity all her life. She knew her madness been assiduously 'managed' by Genatech, but whether they had driven her over the edge or pulled her back from it, she didn't know.

All she knew now was she was holding onto a slowly burning match.

She tossed it.

The flames snaked hungrily toward the house.

Her backup plan was, in fact, not exactly a fully formed plan but it would have to do. Her original plan had involved flying under the radar, involving wills, affidavits, witnesses and securing a legitimate identity for little Ana.

The problem had been the overpowering thrall effect she would have in the first few days, or few weeks of her life. Back then, a high security lab would have been the answer, but those were in rare supply these days.

As soon as she saw Father Tres Iqus, many years ago on security detail after a bombing in Londinium, she knew he was her opportunity to fix things.

It had taken years to procure the right contacts to get her enough information to start working on Tres' program and several more to code it, but it kept her alive, kept her sane. She had been waiting, treading in the slippery shadows of the Londinium underworld, for exactly the right time.

But now, after everything, all she had to go on was the possibility that this Abel Nightroad, the one who had played a hand in destroying her world, was someone who would help.

Or...had Father Tres just told her what she wanted to hear.

Or had she somehow, again, misunderstood, misremembered what he'd said to her.

It was too much to work out in her already addled brain.

Arienne stood back from the slowly forming crowd and waited. The priest would come.

The flames were low flickers by the time Father Abel Nightroad arrived on a Vatican motorcycle.

She calmly strapped Tres's refashioned holster around her waist. She'd driven her own reappropriated Vatican motorcycle all the way to Dubris, but had stopped off at her soon-to-be abandoned car to retrieve Tres' Jerichos.

Through the dispersing villagers and the billowing smoke Arienne stared at the priest. He was searching the crowd for her, his long silvery blond hair tied up behind him with a black bow, revealing a perfectly beautiful, sorrowful face. She knew she had hurt him earlier, reminding him of the past, of things he could not change. But even after that, he had helped her. He brought her back from wherever she had faded to.

A wind blew, and a few orange sparks escaped the glowing ruins to dance in the cool night air. Her eyes were drawn away from the priest and fell on the distant horizon where she saw a dark speck in the sky growing larger.

So...the Department of Inquisition had found her as well.

* * *

Arienne had rehearsed her fall so many times in her head she knew what she would be thinking - what she would try to etch in her memory for Anastasya.

_Ana, remember Father Tres. Father Tres will help you._

All these years she had yearned for her end to come and now, at the brink of her pending death, she wavered.

_Could I..._

Almost as if he could sense a breach in her resolve, the priest's eyes found her. He took a tentative step forward. Arienne reflexively drew back.

_No._

Arienne had made a promise to little Anastasya many years ago. Since then she had done a lot of things in her artificially extended lifetime, things she wasn't proud of, but she was going to be damned if she didn't keep that one promise.

She was ready for her final act to begin.

Arienne turned and ran up the grassy slope, towards the sea, to make her last leap of faith.

* * *

END of _The Fall_


End file.
